


Bedtime Story

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-02
Updated: 2005-07-02
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Senior Watcher meets Junior Watcher. Set in the Very Best Time of the Year AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Story

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

**Bedtime Story**

 

“Cordelia? Angel?” 

The lobby of the hotel appeared deserted. Rather in the manner of the Marie Celeste, he thought, observing the brightly lit Christmas tree in the centre of the room, and the mugs of half drunk coffee on the counter.

Typical, bloody typical. They had called in apparent desperation looking for information on wish magic; emphasizing the urgency of their request. And now they were nowhere to be found. Giles sighed and put the requested volume down on the counter beside the dregs of the coffee.

He should have gone straight to England. In England no one raised people from the dead, well, not that frequently. No one cast forgetting spells that made a vengeance demon his fiancé and a chipped vampire his errant son. No one asked him to give fatherly advice to troubled teens with abandonment issues. And most definitely, in England he generally did not receive phone calls from ex-cheerleaders, erstwhile Council colleagues and former torturers requesting his help. 

Giles was a little surprised at the lack of reception. You would think they would have shown him the courtesy of actually bothering to be there when he arrived. Apparently Wesley had been busy researching when Cordelia had phoned; but despite his many obvious faults, Wyndam-Pryce was nothing if not well-mannered. He expected the Englishman at least to have been there to greet him.

“Honestly, this is intolerable,” he huffed, sounding depressingly like his father.

“Can I help you?” The voice came from the top of the staircase, and Giles looked up to see a tall black man carrying a tray with a mug and plate. 

“And you are?” Giles folded his arms across his chest and watched the man descend the stairs. He placed the tray on the counter and stuck out his hand.

“Gunn. Charles Gunn. I work for Angel Investigations. We help the helpless.” Gunn shook his hand firmly and gave a warm and genuinely friendly smile. “You don’t look so helpless.”

Giles smiled back. “No. I was rather hoping I might be able to help you. I’m Rupert Giles?”

“Giles, right. You’re the Watcher, the guy English replaced?” 

“Attempted to replace,” Giles corrected, unable to suppress the scornful smile. 

Gunn didn’t seem particularly offended. “Yeah, heard that didn’t go so well,” he nodded ruefully, then laid his hand on the text that Giles had placed on the counter. “This the book? The one Wes wanted?”

“Indeed. Though I can’t imagine why. There have been no recorded instances of elfish wish magic since the twelfth century.”

Gunn gave him an appraising look. “What did Cordy tell you?” Giles felt his heart sink at the inference. It was becoming clear that Cordelia had purposely left out some vitally important piece of information. 

“That there was a non-demonic wish that needed to be reversed. That you needed Niklaus’ Compendium.”

Gunn nodded sagely. “She didn’t tell you who made the wish?”

“No, she certainly didn’t. Some fool of a client who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, I expect.”

Gunn sighed very softly. And realization dawned on Giles. “It’s one of you, isn’t it?” Bloody marvelous. He had simply swapped one wish disaster zone for another. 

“Wesley.” 

Now that was just ridiculous. Wesley knew better than to dabble in such magic. He would have been taught from birth the dangers of wish magic, just as Giles had been. 

“Maybe you’d better come upstairs and see him. He’s in bed.”

“He’s not ill, is he?” What sort of wish could Pryce have made that would have made him ill? He followed Gunn upstairs.

“No, he’s fine. Just not exactly himself.” Gunn turned at the top of the stairs. “There’s something you ought to know.”

*~*~*~*

Not exactly himself. 

Now that had to be the understatement of the year. Giles stared at the small pyjama-clad child who was curled up against Cordelia and shook his head in bemused wonder. “So he wished for this?” 

“Well, not specifically this. Just for a happy Christmas.” 

Giles felt a tiny pang of sadness as he realized how far into the future this child had come to find happiness. “How much does he know?” 

“Pretty much everything. He remembers making the wish, then waking up in the closet in his apartment. We found him there. He knows about Angel too.” Gunn’s fingers drifted to his head unconsciously, and Giles noticed a small paper stitch across a cut on Wesley’s forehead. 

“Good God, did Angel attack him?” The strangely familiar desire to protect was mingled with an odd feeling of satisfaction, and Giles fought the rather uncharitable urge to gloat. There, you see, I was right. Angel can’t be trusted.

Gunn shook his head. “Nah. Wes figured out Angel was a vamp and thought we were planning to turn him. He made a run for it and fell and bumped his head.”

The child would have been terrified. Giles remembered the nightmares he’d suffered as a small boy when he’d been informed that the monsters under the bed were real. While other parents plugged in nightlights and sang lullabies, the children of Watchers were sent to sleep with stakes below their pillows. 

“He’d want to talk to you,” Gunn said quietly.

Giles sighed. It wasn’t as if they’d ever had much of a rapport in Sunnydale. The last time he’d met with Wesley, it had been in a hospital room after the events of the Mayor’s ascension. Their conversation had consisted mostly of polite enquiries as to the state of Wesley’s back, and equally formal assurances that it was absolutely fine, really, thank you for asking and would Giles please leave now and let him wallow in peace. Or words to that effect.

What the hell was he going to say to the seven year old version of the former Watcher?

*~*~*~*

“Wesley, this is Giles. He may be able to help us.” Angel ushered him into the room, and then stood by the door, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

Wesley had seemed almost asleep, but he opened his eyes as soon as he heard the vampire move. The little boy looked over to the door and then almost fell out of bed. He sat up from under the covers and straightened his back, pushing his glasses onto the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers.

“I’m sorry, Mr Giles. I know it was foolish to make the wish. Please, please don’t tell my father.”

The boy was terrified; Giles could see that quite clearly. And yet he wasn’t sure how Wesley knew him. From what he’d understood from Gunn, this was actually seven year old Wesley, therefore possessing none of the adult Wesley’s memories. He approached cautiously; sitting down in an armchair next to the bed in what he hoped was a non-threatening way. 

“I’ve no intention of telling your father, Wesley. I barely know the man.”

The tiny paper stitch wrinkled on his forehead as Wesley frowned and then blinked. “But you work with him. With the Council.”

Oh, Lord. Giles supposed it had to happen one day. He’d rather hoped it would be later rather than sooner, but blood will out, as they say. “I think you’re confusing me with my father. I believe he worked with your father in the seventies.”

Wesley’s eyes grew impossibly huge. “You’re Mr Giles’ son?”

Giles gave him an encouraging smile. “’Fraid so. I’m Rupert.” 

“But you’re so old!” As soon as he’d said it, Wesley slapped his palm over his mouth in a futile attempt to stop the words escaping. Giles couldn’t help smiling at the look of horrified mortification on the little boy’s face.

“I suppose I must seem so to you.” 

“You’re a Watcher?” Wesley could hardly disguise the incredulity in his voice. Giles nodded and tried a reassuring smile. It didn’t seem to work very well. “But how… I mean… you were… my father said you…” Wesley’s voice dwindled away to nothing.

“Your father said I was a bad seed. That I denied my sacred duty and would never amount to anything.” He spoke quietly, so that Wesley would understand that he wasn’t angry or offended.

Wesley bit his lip and looked down at his hands, spread out on the covers. “He said you were a failure.” The words were barely a whisper, and his hands trembled.

Giles wondered if these words had been directed at Wesley himself. He leaned forward and patted the trembling fingers gently. “Just shows you how wrong people can be. Even fathers.” 

“Angel and Cordy say I was a Watcher. Did we know each other?” 

Oh, this was not a conversation he wanted to have. He looked over to Angel, who gave a helpless shrug in answer. Useless bloody vampire. 

“We worked together in Sunnydale. Before you came to L.A.” He sincerely hoped this was enough to satisfy Wesley’s curiosity. 

The little boy nodded seriously. “Must be a new idea of the Council’s. Training in the field with an active Watcher. I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother.” 

Giles caught Angel’s warning glance, but had no intention of challenging Wesley’s misconceptions. “No bother at all, Wesley.” 

Wesley leaned forward, and Giles was surprised to see an inquisitive gleam in his eyes. “Were you very bad?” he asked conspiratorially.

“You mean when I was younger?” Giles swallowed a laugh at the ingenuousness of the question. “I suppose by the Council’s standards I was. My father despaired of me.” He was gratified by the look of admiration on the little boy’s face.

“My father despairs of me too, sometimes.” Giles felt his heart constrict at the child’s admission. “But you proved them wrong. Maybe…maybe I will too.” 

“You already have, Wesley.” Angel had moved from the doorway and was now sitting on the other side of the bed, his face very serious. “You know we couldn’t do without you.” 

Wesley’s cheeks turned pink at Angel’s words. “I have a motorbike, you know,” he whispered, as somewhat of a non sequitur. “Did you have a motorbike, Mr Giles? When you were younger?”

Giles tried and failed to hide a grin. “No motorbike. I had a sports car, if that’s any good.” He loved the way Wesley’s eyes lit up. “A red convertible.” 

“Wow! Have you still got it?” Wesley was positively bouncing with excitement. 

Giles shook his head a little sadly. “No, I’m afraid that particular vehicle is long departed.” Wesley looked crestfallen. “I’d love to see your motorbike, though,” Giles added by way of compensation

“So would I.” Wesley gave Angel what barely qualified as a slight scowl. “They won’t let me have a go on it.”

Angel folded his arms sternly, looking comically parental. “We’re not getting into this again, Wes. You are seven. You are not going to kill yourself on that bike.”

“It’s my bike,” Wesley reasoned, looking over to Giles for support. He knew he should back Angel up, but he loved the flustering effect Wes had on the vampire.

“He’s right, you know. It is his bike.” Giles winked at the delighted child, who grinned in triumphant solidarity.

“See? Mr Giles thinks it’s okay. And he’s a Watcher.”

“Giles! You’re not helping!” Giles felt a moment of sympathy for the vampire, and quickly suppressed it.

Wesley began to yawn, and immediately Angel was all care and concern. “You want some hot milk, Wes? I can go warm some up for you.”

Wesley looked up briefly, and Giles was again struck by the startling blueness of the child’s eyes. “Could I have some hot chocolate, please?”

Angel was on his feet instantly. “No problem. I’ll be right back.”

He was almost at the door when Wesley called to him quietly. “Could I have marshmallows on top?”

“Sure, Wes.”

“The mini ones that Cordelia put in last night?”

Angel nodded again, but Wesley wasn’t finished. “Not the pink ones, please. They taste funny.”

“Okay, got it. Hot chocolate, topped with mini marshmallows, white only.” Angel disappeared out the door.

Giles looked down at Wesley, who was gazing at him with those impossibly huge eyes. The child knew exactly what he was doing. “You do know there’s absolutely no way you’ll be getting to ride that motorbike, don’t you?”

Wesley sighed in resignation. “I know. It was worth a try.” He stifled another yawn. 

Giles suddenly remembered that this really was a seven year old child, and it was almost eleven o’clock at night. “Perhaps you should try and get some sleep, Wesley. We can talk about the wish magic in the morning.” 

Wesley nodded and looked longingly at the book that lay upturned on the bed beside him. Then back at Giles, giving him a look that was carefully honed to break down all his defences. 

Giles was well aware of the calculation behind the pleading eyes. He sighed heavily and picked up the book. The felt the breath catch in his chest. It was “Biggles Flies East”, a favourite from his own childhood.

“Angel read me the first three chapters, but he can’t do the accents at all.” Wesley looked up, and this time the pleading seemed quite genuine. “Just one more chapter, please, Mr Giles?”

"Just one, then." Giles glanced over at Wesley, whose eyes were already starting to close, then settled back in the chair and began to read.


End file.
